


A Peek Though the Scrying Waters

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: Reddit Prompts 2: Because the old one is quite full [16]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Gen, Magical Artifacts, Not a good idea to play with unattended magical artifacts, Post-Canon, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Visions, What if Duncan had recruited someone else?, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28007967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: Based on a prompt from r/dragonage.Sevarra Amell and Zevran are returning to southern Thedas after successfully finding a way to avoid her Calling. One day, they receive an invitation from one Xenon the Antiquarian of Kirkwall to come and visit his establishment. She fiddles with an unattended artifact in the shop and sees a vision: Someone else became the Hero of Ferelden. Someone who was very familiar to her, once upon a time.
Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana (in the past), Female Amell/Zevran Arainai, Leliana/Female Surana (Dragon Age)
Series: Reddit Prompts 2: Because the old one is quite full [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918846
Kudos: 3





	A Peek Though the Scrying Waters

The inn in Cumberland had felt like an extravagance after months spent traveling the lands by foot and spending their nights in tents or caves along the way. The pair had decided to spend the week there, drinking in the rhythm of life after years spent away from everything they’d known. While she’d be forever grateful for what Helissa, her apprentices, and her clan had done for her and Zevran, Sevarra was immeasurably comforted to be back around the familiar: a city, people speaking languages she could understand easily, even the faint hints of the Chant of Light being sung when they’d passed the local Chantry. It  _ had  _ made her do a double-take when she’d seen people carrying what were clearly mage’s staves on their backs traveling the city freely while wearing what were definitely Circle mage robes. Then again, Cumberland was the historical and current home of the College of Magi.

She propped herself up on one elbow and drank in the sight of Zevran sleeping next to her. It had been months – nearly a year – since she’d accepted Fortitude’s offer and changed. While it was odd hearing thoughts that weren’t her own and seeing memories that weren’t hers, it was infinitely more comfortable than the burning pain of the Taint that used to be in her veins and the incessant pulling of the Calling’s song. Being an “abomination” was vastly preferable to nearly becoming a ghoul.

_ He is precious to you,  _ the voice that wasn’t her own said in her mind.

_ Yes, he is,  _ she smiled.

_ He is the reason why you undertook your journey and why you ran away. _

_ Yes. I love him. _

_ He worries about you,  _ the spirit ‘said’ flatly, one might even say accusingly.

She sighed and blew an errant strand of hair away from her eye.  _ I know. _

She settled back onto her pillow after dismissing the wisp she’d summoned. She never thought she’d live to see the day where she’d have an argument with another actual person in her mind. She now knew for a fact that the Circle’s assertions of “Spirits are not people!” were sorely misguided, at best. Fortitude had  _ opinions  _ and was not shy in the least about sharing them with her. If there was  _ one _ thing that she knew about people on Thedas, it was that each one had an opinion, regardless of what race or nation they hailed from.

A rapid knocking on the door startled her out of sleep the following morning. She sat up in bed, her bleary eyes barely registering Zevran’s swift movement to the door. By the time she mustered enough wits to crawl out of bed, their visitor had left. Her beloved pressed a kiss to her forehead after returning to her.

“The messenger left this for you,” he said, offering the folded letter.

She blinked a few more times, still in the process of gathering all of her wits into a single pile. She pressed a kiss onto the elf’s cheek before taking the missive. Her first name was emblazoned across the folded parchment, just above the green wax seal depicting a hand holding a tiny free-floating flame in its palm. Furrowing her brows, she slid a thumbnail under the seal and broke the wax.

_ To the Esteemed Lady Sevarra Amell – Arainai, _

_ Word has reached me of your return to civilized lands. I wish to extend both my congratulations and an invitation. We would be honored if you would grace us with your presence in my shop in Kirkwall, The Black Emporium. I am certain there will be things that will capture your interest there, and I am most eager to hear any tales you’ve no doubt collected during your travels to exotic places. _

_ Warmest regards, _

_ Xenon the Antiquarian. _

_ P.S.- You need not fear for your safety while visiting. I am known for my discretion. No one will learn of your return until you yourself choose to make it known. _

She set the letter down and rubbed her eyes. Who was this Xenon person? Exactly how much did they know about her and her doings? What did they want??

“What does it say, amora?”

His question brought her back to the present. She wordlessly offered him the letter. He took it and scanned it. One golden eyebrow rose up as he silently mouthed the words to himself.

She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat before finding her voice. “What are your thoughts, love? I can’t say I’m all that happy about someone knowing so much about us. It makes me… nervous.”

He set the letter on the nightstand and took her hand in his, twining their fingers together. “I would suggest continuing the rest of our week as planned. Then, if it interests you, we take a ship to Kirkwall and find this person, yes?”

“Are you sure that’s wise? What about our plan?” she asked.

He chuckled. “I am more than certain that the Crows will still be waiting for us in Antiva a month from now or even a year from now.” He lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss onto the back of her hand. “We have considerably more time to spend as we see fit than we did before.”

**

She had to admit to herself that Kirkwall looked much better than the last time she’d visited, which had been roughly three years after an Anders possessed by Justice leveled the Chantry and damaged untold numbers of other structures in the surrounding area during The Incident, to say nothing of the loss of life. Much of the rubble in the city had been cleared away. A new Chantry was being constructed in a different part of Hightown. Rumors spoke of a memorial recently erected in the place where the old chantry had once stood. While the thought of seeing it for herself was intriguing, both her gut and Fortitude suggested that finding this so-called “Black Emporium” was a higher priority.

Several twists and turns later, they found themselves in a part of the city called Darktown. After rereading a second letter that’d arrived the day before they set sail from Cumberland, they looked at each other and shrugged.

“The letter says this is the spot, querida,” Zevran nodded toward the circular metal lid on the ground.

“But it looks like--”

“An access to the sewers, yes.”

She scrunched her nose. “Ew. How does this person manage to get any customers, then?”

An hour later, she knocked on a door: a brassy thing with ornate characters in a language she couldn’t identify carved onto its surface, which easily stood out from the “scenery” surrounding it. It swung open with a low creaking protest from its hinges. Exchanging a look with her beloved and then shrugging her shoulders, the pair stepped inside. She startled when the door slammed shut behind them. While not obvious to most, she could see that Zevran was prepared to go into a fighting stance at any moment, what with his movements being filled with tense energy and hands always near one of several pairs of daggers he kept hidden on his person. She felt a brief pang of regret for leaving her staff back at their room at the inn, but she hadn’t wanted to risk drawing attention to herself; Kirkwall was hardly welcoming of mages. Considering what happened in the recent past, she really couldn’t blame the people for feeling that way. She did have a wand hidden in a boot but it was nowhere near as powerful of a focus as a staff.

_ I’m being silly,  _ she thought with a shake of her head.  _ This Xenon person promised we’d be safe while visiting. _

They strolled down the wooden path in the narrow hallway, for it was the only way to go, other than back out through the door to the sewers. The hall gave way to a large round room with a twisted looking figure seated in a chair on a platform. The walls around the figure were packed with tables and shelves laden with all manner of curiosities. She could’ve sworn she saw a woven basket filled to the brim with socks to her left.

“Ah, and so you’ve arrived! I was certain we’d get the both you visiting!” a wizened voice crowed.

She blinked several times. Sevarra could’ve sworn that the voice had come from the immobile figure on the platform in the center of the room. Her magic-sensing was practically aflame from all the spellwork it was detecting; the strongest vibrations were emanating from that very figure. She lowered her hood and took a cautious step forward.

“Xenon the Antiquarian, I presume?”

“That I am!” the figure crowed, somehow without moving his mouth. “Urchin! Fetch some chairs and a tea service!”

A very harried lad, probably not even twelve years of age, judging from his stature and features, came hurrying out with a pair of wooden chairs and then disappeared into a door to the right, presumably to get a tea service.  _ Had that door been there before? _ She could’ve sworn the round room had only a single way out: the way they’d come in.

“The family resemblance is remarkable. You look so much like your aunt and cousins,” Xenon wheezed.

“You’ve met them?” she asked in disbelief.

“Oh, yes, yes. The Champion of Kirkwall and her younger sister were frequent customers. And their mother led a much more ‘exciting’ life as a younger person,” he rasped. “You’ll forgive me for getting right to the heart of things, won’t you? I would very much like to hear about your travels.”

She sat in one of the chairs. The urchin reappeared from the hidden door once again, carrying a tray laden with cups, milk, honey, and of course a large teapot. Zevran poured himself a cup and cautiously sniffed at it, then gave an experimental sip. He smirked and then began drizzling honey into his cup. Apparently, it was safe enough. She poured herself a cup and mixed in a bit of milk.

“Where should I start?” she asked.

“At the beginning, of course.”

**

Her throat felt parched and her bottom was nearly asleep by the time she finished her tale. Zevran was currently telling his version of events, with much more energy and panache than she’d managed. She drained the last bit of her cup and stood up to improve her circulation. Idly scanning the room, something white caught her eye. How had she not noticed it before? It was made of stone and easily stood at least as tall as she did. Drawing closer to it, she found it had a pair of carved arms at its middle that held a basin that was roughly a foot deep. There was water idly swirling in it with traces of blue. Judging from the smell, she’d bet good coin that the blue was from lyrium.

She bit her lip and saw her reflection in the water’s surface do the same. It’d been such a long time since she’d been around lyrium. Helissa’s clan had never heard of the stuff. They’d thought she was telling a tall tale when she spoke about it. It hummed faintly in her mind, it always did when she was close enough to the stuff. Sparing a glance over her shoulder, she spied that Zevran was still very much wrapped up in telling his story.

Why was she so tempted? She didn’t  _ like _ using lyrium! The potions made with it tasted the way that old sweaty socks smelled! She stared into the blue flecked water. It felt like it was calling her. Before good sense could stop her, she ran her fingers across the surface, causing ripples in it that glowed. Her vision faded to white.

**

It could’ve been several heartbeats or several days before her vision cleared, she wasn’t sure how long. Somehow, time felt… irrelevant. Confusion filled her when she heard her own voice arguing with someone else. A pair of figures entered her view: a younger version of herself, still clad in the robes of an apprentice Circle mage, and a blond elven woman with golden brown skin wearing the robes of a fully-fledged mage. Judging from the pristine state of the latter’s robes, she was newly Harrowed. Sevarra’s heart lurched when the elven woman turned, which allowed her a view of her face and sapphire blue eyes.

_ Neria… darling. Wait. This doesn’t seem right. She looks older than the last time I saw her. _

She spared a glance at her younger self, which did not seem to react to the older version of herself watching her.  _ I guess they can’t see me? She looks like I did when I was 19. That doesn’t make sense. Neria left Kinloch before I turned 18! _

Uncaring of their invisible audience, the young lovers continued their conversation.

“Neria, this plan of yours, it’s madness! Don’t do it, please. I beg you!” the younger Sevarra said.

The elf folded her arms and leveled a glare at her partner. “You call him your brother, yet won’t do a thing to stop what the Knight-Commander has planned for him. Since you’ve demonstrated a rather unattractive lack of backbone, I’ll help him and Lily. What happened to the brave girl I fell for?”

The young human flinched. “Now that’s just low. You call it a lack of spine while I’m just willing to see the reality of the situation! Have you heard the rumors going around? If they’re even a little bit true…”

“Rumors, not facts. Are you even listening to yourself, Sevarra? When’d you become a sodding coward?”

The apprentice took a deep breath after balling her hands into fists and slowly unfurling them. “I’d rather die than be made tranquil. I may be… impulsive, but even I have my limits. This? This is a line in the sand. Do you know what’s on the other side of that line waiting for me? A burning-hot lyrium brand just waiting to burn away everything that I am! I’ve seen how Greagoir watches me. Even one toenail out of line and he’ll have me chained up for the rite! I will not be made worse than a walking corpse!”

The blond snorted, evidently unmoved.

“You know what? You’ve been so strange since your Harrowing. So much more angry and aggressive. What happened to you, Neria?”

Her blue eyes flashed with rage. “I’ve seen the truth of things, that’s what. You’re still content to be a prisoner, trying to appease the very people who are looking for the least bit of an excuse to do away with people like us.”

“I think you’re being a bit overdram--”

“This. Conversation. Is. Over,” Neria growled through clenched teeth. With that, she spun on her heel and walked away.

The mist clouded the observer’s sight once again. When it cleared, a different scene appeared before her eyes. It was a place she knew well, for it had been burned into her memory. The set of steps leading up from the basement, which was only two rooms away from the tower’s main doors, the final barrier between the Circle’s inhabitants and freedom. There were three figures at the stairs’ landing: Jowan and Lily in the back and…  **Neria** in front of them?! She wore a snarl, staff in one hand and her other arm raised protectively in front of her companions.

_ I think I know how this is going to play out,  _ Sevarra thought with a heavy heart.

Neria spat at the Knight-Commander’s feet and tried to unleash a spell, only for one of the templars behind him to muffle her magic with only a gesture. The words that followed echoed in the watcher’s memory.

“NO! I won’t let you touch her!” Jowan cried before slicing his hand with a hidden blade. A wave of magic knocked the templars, the First Enchanter, and Neria from their feet. After an argument between Jowan and Lily, he fled.

The people left behind slowly regained consciousness and began arguments that the observer heard before. Greagoir’s face was turning the same shade of angry pink that she remembered. Eventually, a careworn voice broke through.

“Knight-Commander, if I may? I am not only looking for mages to join the king’s army, I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens.”

A short time later, she watched as Neria Surana left Kinloch Hold with Warden-Commander Duncan. She only had a moment to wonder just exactly what she was watching before the mists clouded her sight once more.  _ Neria stayed in Kinloch after her Harrowing? Then Duncan recruited her?? _

The mists parted once more, but instead of one scene slowly playing itself out at a time, a series of them chaotically swam by. Neria awoke wrapped in bandages in a strange hut in the middle of the Wilds, greeted by a familiar-looking golden-eyed woman with dark hair in one image. And then in the next, they were walking along a road and met a dog. It was a mabari but looked nothing like her beloved Fang. In the following image, she and Alistair were in a pub in Lothering, talking with a red-headed woman in the robes of a Chantry Sister. Sevarra noticed the way the elven mage’s eyes lingered on the Sister as if seeing a vision from the Maker himself.

_ I guess I can’t blame her, Leliana  _ **_was_ ** _ a beautiful person,  _ she thought with a twinge of jealousy.  _ It’s not like I moped and mourned for months on end after Neria left. Oh wait, I DID.  _ She shook her head in a bid to clear away the uncomfortable feeling.  _ Besides, I ended up with someone better. _

More visions came speeding by. A party of four walked from the Commons of Orzammar into the Deep Roads. Later, that same party of four fought off a batch of golems… and led an exultant looking dwarven woman to – Maker’s mercy, was that the Anvil of the Void?!  _ They let Branka have the Anvil?!  _ The image was quickly replaced by a graying dwarven noble kneeling in the Assembly as another one placed a crown upon his head.

“Let the Memories find you worthy, first amidst the lords of the houses, the King of Orzammar.”

“All hail King Harrowmont!” one of the nobles called after the newly-crowned dwarf rose to his feet.

The mists rose and fell once more, bringing other things to witness. A shy kiss was shared between Leliana and Neria. Alistair and the mage cackled while bouncing jokes off one another. A vicious-looking argument between the elven Grey Warden and Morrigan took place; both women left looking as if ready to plot murder. And then there was a forest, the aravels of a dalish clan just barely visible among the trees. Neria marched up to a bald elven man with tattoos carefully adorning his forehead and cheeks, her hands covered with blood. She offered him a fleshy object roughly the size of a man’s fist. Day changed to night, accompanied by the sounds of drums and wooden flutes as the clan celebrated. Neria and Leliana shared a dance where their eyes did far more talking than any lips could hope to manage.

The mists became dark and oppressive, as if only grudgingly conceding to withdraw only a little bit so that the watcher could see what came next. They revealed a suite in Redcliffe Castle where Morrigan stood before a fire. Neria entered the room. The women had an exchange that quickly devolved into an argument that ended with the witch taking the form of a wolf and storming away. Neria glared into the fire for several minutes after Morrigan left. Her stormy expression was washed away by the arrival of Leliana, but there was a lingering trace of something pained in the Warden’s eye. The lovers shared an embrace.

Sevarra’s vision blurred and rippled; when it came back into focus, she felt her heart lurch. The sky was blood red, choked with smoke. The battered rooftop of Fort Drakon stood around her. In the background, a corrupted dragon, Urthemiel, lay dead with a blade jutting from its skull. The anguished sounds of a woman’s voice drew her attention.

“No! Please! Come back! Come back to me…”

Her heart shattered at the sight. Leliana knelt on the stone, clutching the limp body of her beloved as she rocked and wept.

_ How could you do that to my friend? She loved you! Morrigan would’ve helped you, you idiot!  _ She fumed silently.

**

She stumbled backward, nearly losing her footing. She took several deep breaths, trying to will her heart to calm down.

_ You are safe,  _ her spirit companion said in a reassuring tone.  _ You are unharmed. _

Once her vision cleared, she glared at the basin filled with lyrium-tainted water.  _ What the bloody Void was all that? Did I have a hallucination?  _ With a shudder, Sevarra quickly walked away from the artifact and found Zevran, who’d only just finished telling his tale to Xenon.

“Ah, amora! There you--”

He was cut off mid-sentence, surprised at the ferocious hug she wrapped him in. She buried her face in the bit of cloak resting on his shoulder. After the shock wore off, he chuckled and wrapped one arm around her waist while he stroked her hair with the other hand.

The vision of Leliana weeping over the body of her beloved was fresh in the mage’s mind. The haunting thought of how easily it could have been Zevran in Leliana’s place, weeping over a lover who’d been too stubborn or too proud to accept help that could’ve saved their life, made her heart hurt.

_ He is precious to me. I will not hurt him like that. _

“Something on your mind, my dear?” he asked.

“I was just reminded of how much I love you,” she said, voice still muffled from being buried against his shoulder.

Xenon’s chuckle seemed to hint at knowing more than he let on. “It is good to remember what is important.” 


End file.
